Number Drabbles
by korbi.falardeau
Summary: A series of short request drabbles from tumblr. Donatello helps April with her homework and Leo contemplates his life by the fireplace. Includes apritello, LeoxRaph
1. 3: Cake

"Why do I have to take home economics anyway?" April complained as she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring indiscriminately into the distance. "It's a ridiculous class that reinforces rigid and outdated gender stereotypes!"

"You're just saying that because you're bad at it." The tease came from Mikey, who sat across the table from April with a mischievous expression and wide smile planted on his face.

"I am **not**!"

"Are too. Even I know how to make a cake."

"I've seen your cakes, Mikey." April glared.

"Yeah, and I've eaten them." Raph added, "Feed one of Mikey's cakes to your class and you won't have to worry about failing, cause they'll all croak."

April released a small sigh as Mikey and Raph bickered across the table. Leo and Donnie were both out scavenging in some junk yard, looking for parts Don needed to build something or other, fix something, create some other wonderful genius thing to make life a bit more habitable for his family. Her eyes cut to the entrance of the lair; she wished he'd, uh, _they'd_ come back soon. She was hitting her limit of the trouble-making duo, the younger brothers, and she had already been frustrated before she even got into the sewers.

"Yeah? Well, see if I ever cook you anything again, Raph!"

"Don't do me any favors, Mikey. Seriously. Don't."

"Jerk!"

"Moron."

_Ugh_. April dropped her face into her hands, rubbing her temples. Donnie, _please_ come back. I might throttle yours brothers if you don't get home soon …

Maybe it was luck or good timing. Maybe it was psychic Kraang power, but as soon as that thought finished flickering through April's mind, Leo and Donnie came pushing past the turnstiles, talking quietly to each other, Leo feigning polite interest as Don enthusiastically explained his latest project, the reason they were hauling packs of scrap metal. His already excited face moprhed to elation when he noticed the extra guest at their table.

"April! I mean, uh …. heeeey, April. When did you get here? Uh, not that I don't want you here. I was just wondering, it's kind of late at night. Not that I think you can't defend yourself! I just mean-"

"She's here to make a cake." Raph interrupted and Don gave him a look of silent gratitude, "Only not, cause she sucks at it!"

Gratitude turned to a glare. "Raph! I'm sure she doesn't "suck" at it."

"Yeah, I do," April agreed miserably, "I'm awful. I'm going to get an F. My cakes are almost as bad as Mikey's…"

"Yeah," Mikey nodded sagely. "I mean, hey!"

"That's great, April!" Don shouted, then stopped at the angry expression she shot him. It was great, but not because she couldn't do it. Donatello really didn't care whether April could bake a cake or not, other than the fact that her lack of ability to do so seemed to distress her. No, it was great because it was something he could help her with.

"I mean, I can help you, if you want. Cooking is just chemistry." He'd never baked a cake but how hard could it be?

The answer was, in short, much harder than he thought. An hour had passed and both of them were covered in flour, April had dropped an egg on the floor, and Mikey was eating their frosting faster than they could make it. April was whipping powdered sugar furiously, puffs of it coating the fine hair on her arms, desperately trying to create a glaze for their currently nonexistent cake. Her brows, which also had sugar and flour sticking to them, were drawn in concentration. Her cheeks flushed with frustration, but it was difficult to tell through all the flour.

She was really beautiful.

April threw down the bowl with a disgusted groan, and Mikey immediately snatched it up and started to eat the lumpy glaze. Don glared at him, but frowned when he looked back at April. She was fuming, upset, irritated at everyone and everything, it seemed. Probably him too. He'd been arrogant; he was so sure he'd be able to do it, to help her with it, and maybe it was now just a bigger mess, possibly literally, than it would have been if he had just stayed out of the kitchen. Gone back to his lab where he belonged.

"Sorry I couldn't help, April … I guess I just made a bigger mess."

As if on cue, Mikey slammed the bowl down, the semi solid glaze swishing and spilled, splattering up to coat over Donnie's face. Talk about a mess.

"Ugh!" He exclaimed with revulsion, pulling his fingers over the sticky mixture, sweeping it off and flicking it onto the counter, the floor. "Mikey!"

But then he couldn't be annoyed anymore, because April was smiling, and then she was _laughing_, a sugar coated hand covering her sugar coated face, looking up at him, at _him_, with a sweet serene expression of amusement and joy and it made Donnie's heart thump in his chest and his head feel light and full of air and … and …

Wow. She was so beautiful.

"It's okay, Donnie." It sounded like his name was coated in sugar too, the way it fell from her lips, the way it sounded with her smile around the word. "Thanks for the help anyway."

When she reached over, lifted up on her toes, and pressed a syrupy kiss to his cheek, Donnie's mind, for one of the few times in his life, went absolutely and completely still and blank. There was only April and the smell of sweetener, the press of flour against his skin. It was his turn to smile, a smaller expression, as he looked down at the sugar covered girl.

"Y-yeah. You're welcome, April."


	2. 10: Fire

Winter had been terrible when they lived in the sewers. The dirty snow would melt down the storm drains, flood everything, and there would be slushy piles of ice, snow, and unmentionable things dotting the tunnels. And the cold. Lord, the cold. It would creep into his bones, and no amount of turtle piling ever quite warmed him enough. The first few winters he could remember had primarily been spent shivering under his brothers and blankets and sometimes, if he was lucky, curled up on his father's warm lap. God bless warm blooded creatures.

It was different now. He didn't need to sap heat from a willing mammal any longer, and hadn't for years. He and Raph had moved into their first shitty apartment when he was 20, his brother 18. The adjustment to life in an era where humans were aware of mutants, where activists, primarily students like April, advocated for mutant rights had been strange. He'd made the decision, with his brother and love, to go topside and not look back. And, for the most part, he was satisfied with life above ground. It was nice not having people and aliens and monsters trying to brutally murder them all the time. It was nice not having to fret about Raph and his haphazard approach to life, wondering when it would be that he would inevitably piss off the wrong person, run out on his own and get captured, end up dead in a ditch somewhere for Leo to find. At least living among the world of humans with a fraction of acceptance seemed to curb Raph's reoccurring desire to bolt and fuck shit up.

There were other nice things too. Their house was nice. It smelled good. It had a fireplace. Leo loved the fireplace. He liked to sit in front of it, let the light flicker over his skin and the heat flush his face as he drank tea and read. Sometimes, he would just sit in the chair in front of the fire (it was "his chair" according to Raph) and stare into the dancing flames. Watch them, focus on them, let his eyes and mind go hazy and silent.

Raph would occasionally join him in the front of the fire, but he had less tolerance for it. It wasn't that Raphael disliked the heat; he loved it just as much as Leo did. It just … well, it put his lover to sleep. Sometimes when Raph came home late at night, snow dusting his leather jacket, piled over his motorcycle helmet, Leo could convince him to come and sit. Raph would gripe and piss and moan, but he'd hang up his jacket, shake the snow off his chilled body, and join Leo. They'd wrap their limbs together, tossing teasing words back and forth softly, nuzzling each other's necks and, unavoidably, be lulled to sleep by the delicious warmth of the crackling flames. Raph wouldn't admit it, but Leo knew Raph liked falling asleep in front of the fire, curled up in his brother's arms.

The door opened, pulling him away from his pleasant reminiscing. Raphael brushed snow from his shoulders and snapped the door shut behind him.

"It's cold as balls out there! Jesus fuck, why do we live here again!?"

Leo gave his loud little brother a small smile, closed his book and set it aside. He regarded Raph with a calm and tender expression.

"Come sit by the fire with me."

A pause, then Raph was smiling back, pulling his jacket off and walking across the room to join Leo.


End file.
